


There's You in Everything I Do

by Bonnie_Bug



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen, Parentlock, partially series 4 compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-10
Updated: 2017-10-10
Packaged: 2019-01-15 14:45:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12323118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bonnie_Bug/pseuds/Bonnie_Bug
Summary: She's such a happy child. Even after all the hardship so far in her short life, she's still so incredibly happy.





	There's You in Everything I Do

**Author's Note:**

> originally written in feb 2017 as part of a bigger story I ended up never writing whoops

The sound of tiny feet pattering through the kitchen meets my ears, and I lower the paper I was half-heartedly reading. 

“What is it, Rosie?” 

“I'm done with my painting!” she chirps, clear as birdsong. “Come see come see come see,” she grabs my trouser leg and tugs, surprisingly strong for a four-year-old. I give her my hand instead and allow her to drag me into the sitting room, where her little easel has been set up by the coffee table. I crouch down to admire her masterpiece head-on. 

“Oh, Rosie, this is lovely,” I say warmly, completely sincere. She’s very talented for her age. She bounces with delight and jabs her finger at the painting as she explains it all. 

“It's me and Molly and Mrs. Husson and Lestad and that's Toby and we're on a case!” 

“Oooh, a case, is it? What sort of case?” I smile. 

“It's a kidapping case!” she says, eyes wide as she smiles back. “You were taken by the bad guys and we gotta find you. That's why we have Toby.”

“Ah, you're going to sniff me out, are you?”

“Mmhm! Your coat was left behind so Toby’s using it to follow your scent! That's why he's wearing it,” she points to the brown, mostly dog-shaped blotch of paint, which indeed has a smear of black on its back. If I turn my head a bit I can recognize the shape of a coat. 

“That's very clever, sweetheart, well done!” I smile, pulling her into a hug. She beams and tucks her head into my shoulder, little arms wrapped tight around my neck. I kiss her hair and hoist her up into my arms as I stand. 

“As soon as it's dry, we’ll hang it up on the mantel,” I say. “That way everyone who comes in can admire it too.”

“Okay!” she says, kicking her feet happily as she settles on my hip. 

She's such a happy child. Even after all the hardship so far in her short life, she's still so incredibly happy. Of course she doesn't remember any of it, she wasn't even six months old when Mary died, and the… _Event_ happened only a couple of months after that. Babies’ memories are remarkably forgiving, and as far as she knows this is how her life has always been. It doesn't make it better, but… 

It is what it is. 

“It's nearly lunchtime,” I say, moving back into the kitchen, Rosie none the wiser to my brief introspection. “What do you want to eat?”

“Pizza!” 

“Mm, nope, you’ve had pizza two days in a row. You know the rule,” I say, dropping her down on a chair, where she stands on the seat, pouting. 

“... Nuggets?” she asks after a moment of petulant thought. I nod, opening up the freezer. 

“Dinosaurs or regular?” I ask, digging past a bag of frozen peas and what might have once been leftover lasagna. 

“Dinosaurs!” she says, petulance forgotten. “Can I have chips too?” I think for a moment. 

“You can have chips if you eat five bites of broccoli,” I bargain. She huffs, but nods after a moment. 

“Good girl,” I ruffle her hair as I walk past to get the kitchen scissors to open the bags, and she giggles. She plops down to sit properly on the chair, happy to watch me work as I set out the nuggets and the chips on a baking sheet for the oven. 

“... Are we going to the hopsital today?” she asks after a few minutes of silence. I look over my shoulder at her from where I'm standing at the sink, washing a small head of broccoli for us. 

“... What day is it, today?” I gently prompt her, setting aside the broccoli and turning to face her. She screws up her mouth in thought, and when she looks up at me, answerless, I glance at the calendar on the fridge, where I've been marking off the days with large red Xs just for things like this. With a little _“oh!”_ she scrambles down from the chair, running over to the calendar. She taps each crossed off day, singing her little days-of-the-week song under her breath. 

“It's Friday!” she says at last. 

“It is,” I smile. “And what do we do on Fridays that we don't do any other day?” 

“We go to the hopsital! And cuz today is Friday that means we're going to the hopsital today!” she says triumphantly. I smile and stoop down to kiss her on the forehead. 

“Very good, sweetheart! We are indeed going to the hospital today,” I say. “It’ll be sometime after we finish lunch, I imagine.”

“Okay,” she nods, bounding back to her chair as I stand back up and finish cutting the broccoli.

 

 

It isn't until I've finished eating and she has only a few bites of chips left that she brings it up again. 

“I wanna make another painting for Daddy,” she says, smearing a chip around in her ketchup like a paintbrush. “Even though he's still sleeping at the hopsital. Can you help me with it, Sherlock?”

I swallow tightly, standing up and going over to her side of the table, running a hand through her soft, soft hair and pressing a kiss to the top of her head. 

 

It's been just under three years, and it still aches like it's the first day. 

 

“That's a wonderful idea, Rosie. I’d be honored to help.”

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> yea h john's not in it at all I just wanted to keep the Mystery yknow sorry :V
> 
> was anyone even surprised tho or


End file.
